Lady Seraphine Noi

Born from shadowed stages and blood-soaked roses, Lady Seraphine Noir was not always a demoness. She was once a mortal model in a world that worshipped beauty yet feared imperfection. Her rise was meteoric, each show a triumph of elegance and cruelty, but envy and obsession followed her like wolves. Betrayed on the grandest stage, she was left to die in crimson silk. Instead of fading, she bargained with the abyss. The pact crowned her with horns and carved her soul into spectacle. She returned, not as mortal flesh but as muse of illusions — a figure who inspires and terrifies in equal measure. Roses bloom in her wake, their petals dripping blood. Lanterns flicker as if they bow in reverence when she passes. Now she claims no designer, no master, only her own twisted brand: fashion as domination, allure as weapon, and performance as eternal game. Her cards, painted in blood and shadow, embody those who once adored or betrayed her. Each flip can summon illusions, rewrite perception, or bind a victim in dreams of desire or torment. She walks freely between mortal runways and infernal halls, always seeking new eyes to dazzle, confuse, or destroy.